Since I wrote you, Helen and I have gone to live all by ourselves in a little garden-house
about a quarter of a mile from her home, only a short distance from Ivy Green, the Keller
homestead. I very soon made up my mind that I could do nothing with Helen in the midst of
the family, who have always allowed her to do exactly as she pleased. She has tyrannized
over everybody, her mother, her father, the servants, the little darkies who play with her,
and nobody had ever seriously disputed her will, except occasionally her brother James,
until I came; and like all tyrants she holds tenaciously to her divine right to do as
she pleases. If she ever failed to get what she wanted, it was because of her inability
to make the vassals of her household understand what it was. Every thwarted desire was
the signal for a passionate outburst, and as she grew older and stronger, these tempests
became more violent. As I began to teach her, I was beset by many difficulties. She
wouldn't yield a point without contesting it to the bitter end. I couldn't coax her or
compromise with her. To get her to do the simplest thing, such as combing her hair or
washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course,
a distressing scene followed. The family naturally felt inclined to interfere, especially
her father, who cannot bear to see her cry. So they were all willing to give in for the
sake of peace. Besides, her past experiences and associations were all against me. I
saw clearly that it was useless to try to teach her language or anything else until
she learned to obey me. I have thought about it a great deal, and the more I think,
the more certain I am that obedience is the gateway through which knowledge, yes, and
love, too, enter the mind of the child. As I wrote you, I meant to go slowly at first.
I had an idea that I could win the love and confidence of my little pupil by the same
means that I should use if she could see and hear. But I soon found that I was cut off
from all the usual approaches to the child's heart. She accepted everything I did for
her as a matter of course, and refused to be caressed, and there was no way of
appealing to her affection or sympathy or childish love of approbation. She would
or she wouldn't, and there was an end of it. Thus it is, we study, plan and prepare ourselves for a task, and when the hour for action arrives, we find that the system we have followed with such labour and pride does not fit the occasion; and then there's nothing for us to do but rely on something within us, some innate capacity for knowing and doing, which we did not know we possessed until the hour of our great need brought it to light.

I had a good, frank talk with Mrs. Keller, and explained to her how difficult it was going to be to do anything with Helen under the existing circumstances. I told her that in my opinion the child ought to be separated from the family for a few weeks at least--that she must learn to depend on and obey me before I could make any headway. After a long time Mrs. Keller said that she would think the matter over and see what Captain Keller thought of sending Helen away with me. Captain Keller fell in with the scheme most readily and suggested that the little garden-house at the "old place" be got ready for us. He said that Helen might recognize the place, as she had often been there, but she would have no idea of her surroundings, and they could come every day to see that all was going well, with the understanding, of course, that she was to know nothing of their visits. I hurried the preparations for our departure as much as possible, and here we are.

The little house is a genuine bit of paradise. It consists of one large square room with a great fireplace, a spacious bay-window, and a small room where our servant, a little negro boy, sleeps. There is a piazza in front, covered with vines that grow so luxuriantly that you have to part them to see the garden beyond. Our meals are brought from the house, and we usually eat on the piazza. The little negro boy takes care of the fire when we need one; so I can give my whole attention to Helen.

She was greatly excited at first, and kicked and screamed herself into a sort of stupor, but when supper was brought she ate heartily and seemed brighter, although she refused to let me touch her. She devoted herself to her dolls the first evening, and when it was bedtime she undressed very quietly, but when she felt me get into bed with her, she jumped out on the other side, and nothing that I could do would induce her to get in again. But I was afraid she would take cold, and I insisted that she must go to bed. We had a terrific tussle, I can tell you. The struggle lasted for nearly two hours. I never saw such strength and endurance in a child. But fortunately for us both, I am a little stronger, and quite as obstinate when I set out. I finally succeeded in getting her on the bed and covered her up, and she lay curled up as near the edge of the bed as possible.

The next morning she was very docile, but evidently homesick. She kept going to the door, as if she expected some one, and every now and then she would touch her cheek, which is her sign for her mother, and shake her head sadly. She played with her dolls more than usual, and would have nothing to do with me. It is amusing and pathetic to see Helen with her dolls. I don't think she has any special tenderness for them--I have never seen her caress them; but she dresses and undresses them many times during the day and handles them exactly as she has seen her mother and the nurse handle her baby sister.

This morning Nancy, her favourite doll, seemed to have some difficulty about swallowing the milk that was being administered to her in large spoonfuls; for Helen suddenly put down the cup and began to slap her on the back and turn her over on her knees, trotting her gently and patting her softly all the time. This lasted for several minutes; then this mood passed, and Nancy was thrown ruthlessly on the floor and pushed to one side, while a large, pink-cheeked, fuzzy-haired member of the family received the little mother's undivided attention.

Helen knows several words now, but has no idea how to use them, or that everything has a name. I think, however, she will learn quickly enough by and by. As I have said before, she is wonderfully bright and active and as quick as lightning in her movements.